


won't you tell me what you're thinking of?

by flwrpotts



Category: Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon, pining and snark, probably a gratuitous amount of music references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 16:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15634719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flwrpotts/pseuds/flwrpotts
Summary: Jughead doesn’t move, still frozen to the spot, and Reggie rolls his eyes, chewing loudly on a piece of gum. “Could you lay off the angst, Holden Caulfield?” he drawls. “Stop acting like someone stole your gym clothes.”“Someone did steal my gym clothes,” Jughead protests, voice pinched. “You. Last Tuesday.”Reggie shrugs, unrepentant, and begins to scrawl a face onto one of the pumpkins that litter the table. “Let’s not get bogged down by the details.”OR.betty enlists jughead, reggie, and archie to help her set up for the annual riverdale middle school halloween dance.





	won't you tell me what you're thinking of?

**Author's Note:**

> originally written on tumblr for the eternally lovely village-skeptic for the prompt “well the probability of that is 0, but you go ahead.” Pre-canon dynamics involving Betty, Reggie, Archie, and Jughead - pining and snark"
> 
> title is from "thirteen" by big star, and thank you so much for reading!!!

Betty finds him at the very end of homeroom, sliding into the seat next to him and reaching over to pull out one of his omnipresent earbuds.

Jughead jerks back, startled at the sudden loss of Pink Floyd to his left eardrum, and glowers at her, a far less severe expression than it would be if she were anyone else.

“Good morning,” she says brightly, picking at the sleeve of her pink cardigan. “I need a favor.”

“I’m not promising until you tell me whatever it is,” he says, half teasing, half remembering the time she conned him into working the student council car wash.

“It’s nothing like that,” she says quickly, reading his mind. “I’m in charge of planning the Riverdale Middle School Halloween Dance, and I need help setting up in the gym after school. Painting signs, hanging up streamers, stuff like that. No artistic ability required.” 

She blinks at him, anxious and hopeful, and really, she should know by now that he was in from the moment that she sat down next to him.

“Also!” she says, cutting him off as he opens his mouth to answer. “I baked those sugar cookies you like. _And_ you can pick whatever you song you want to play at the dance.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Coop,” Jughead replies, and the relief lights up on Betty’s face. “What time do you need me there?”

She smiles at him, all teeth, the way girls do when they really mean it. Something pangs, a little painfuly, in Jughead’s chest. 

“You’re a lifesaver, Juggie,” she says. “Come by after school, and it’ll probably only be a couple of hours.”

The bell rings, and she slides back out of the seat, eager not to be late to class.

“Have a good day!” she calls, and Jughead watches her go, wrestling with the strange fondness cracked open in his chest.

* * *

The day passes in a blur of lessons and hanging out with Archie, and Jughead makes his way to the school gym at half past three, excited to hang out with just Betty in a way that he doesn’t want to study too closely.

There are kids jamming the halls around him, chatting loudly about what costumes they’re going to wear to the dance, or arguing over whether or not they’re too old to go trick-or-treating. Jughead is against mass-produced holidays in general, but he’s always liked the buzz of excitement that comes the night before a special occasion. The feeling that something is going to happen in their sleepy little town where nothing even happens. 

He opens the door to the gym and slips inside shoulder first, only to recoil when he sees Archie and _Reggie Mantle_ sitting at the little fold-out table, cutting out what look like construction paper bats.

“What’s he doing here?” he directs at Betty, the feeling of betrayal curdling the excitement in his stomach faster than he can process it. Betty, for her part, looks unpertrubed as she continues to string up tiny glittery pumpkins across the bleachers.

“ _Reggie_ is helping us to set up for the Halloween dance,” she says, like that’s a suitable explanation for inviting Riverdale’s very own Steve Stifler to help decorate the school gym. “Do you think you could start hanging streamers over there?”

Jughead doesn’t move, still frozen to the spot, and Reggie rolls his eyes, chewing loudly on a piece of gum. “Could you lay off the angst, Holden Caulfield?” he drawls. “Stop acting like someone stole your gym clothes.”

“Someone did steal my gym clothes,” Jughead protests, voice pinched. “You. Last Tuesday.”

Reggie shrugs, unrepentant, and begins to scrawl a face onto one of the pumpkins that litter the table. “Let’s not get bogged down by the details.”

“Guys,” says Archie, goodnatured and pleading, glancing back and forth between the two boys, who are still pointedly glaring at one another.

“Fine,” says Jughead wearily, and fully steps into the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Whatever, Ponyboy,” quips Reggie, and Jughead suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he takes stock of the gym, which looks like it’s had orange glitter explode inside of it, and walks over to where Betty is twining together black and orange crepe paper to make streamers.

“He didn’t even read that book,” he informs Betty lowly as he sits down next to her. “The other day I overheard him ask Jason why Ponyboy couldn’t stay conscious long enough to narrate the story!”

Betty blinks at him, the corner of her mouth twitching in a repressed smirk. “Well, he has a point,” she says, and Jughead suddenly finds himself smirking too, the whole situation suddenly a sort of dark amusement.

“I’m sorry,” he says, knocking his shoulder lightly against Betty’s and picking up his own roll of crepe paper. “I know I promised to help set up, not complain the entire time.”

There’s a pause, and then Betty sighs. 

“No, I’m sorry, Juggie” she says earnestly, avoiding eye contact to look studiously down at her work. “I should have told you sooner. I know that you and Reggie don’t always- see eye to eye.” _Understatement of the century_ , Jughead thinks to himself, but Betty isn’t done yet.

“I just- this dance is really important to me. Everyone else on the committe dropped out, so it’s just me responsible for it, and Cheryl Blossom told me that if she’s _suitably impressed_ she might- might consider putting me on the River Vixens next year. It has to be perfect.”

Betty exhales, a little shuddery, and Jughead notices her hands curl into fists. It’s a new habit, one he’s just started to pick up on, and as always, the sight of it sends a skitter of panic down his spine, a marrow-deep urge to make her feel better. He’s never met a person in his life who wants to be good as badly as Betty, who cares so deeply about everything.

“Hey,” Jughead says softly. “The dance is gonna be amazing, Betts. The best Riverdale Middle School has ever seen.”

“You think so?” she asks, eyes huge, streamers forgotten on the table in front of her.

“I know so. The Coopers are practically Halloween aficionados. Remember in fourth grade, when you insisted on the three of us dressing up as the Golden trio? I had the lipstick scar on my forehead for a week.”

Betty smiles, almost laughing, at the memory of the three of them- their homemade Hogwarts robes, the chess piece she made Archir carry around to be a more convincing Ron.

“The three of us won the first place prize in the school’s costume contest,” she recalls. “My mother was just glad I had agreed to not go as Nancy Drew for the third year in a row.”

“See?” he replies. “The dance is gonna be great, Betts. Kids’ll be terrified.”

She smiles, looking like she’s going to say something else, and that’s when something thwacks him in the back of the head. Jughead starts, and realizes it was one of the plastic spiders that Betty found in some dusty old supply closet.

“Hey, slackers,” calls Reggie gleefully, not a shred of remorse in his expression. “Those cobwebs aren’t going to hang themselves!”

“You are the worst sort of person,” Jughead informs him succinctly, calling across the room, and Betty hiccups a badly hidden laugh.

“Takes one to know one.”

“Reg, I think we’re probably all set here, if you want to leave,” Archie says, not at all as subtle as he thinks he is. “Coach’ll kick your ass if you’re late to practice.” It’s a peace offering, Jughead knows, and the gesture warms his chest, as poorly executed as it is.

Reggie just looks amused. “Trying to get rid of me, Andrews? Fat chance. I am the _backbone_ of this Halloween Dance Organizing Committee.”

“You’re the appendix,” Jughead replies. “Unnecessary and painful to deal with.”

“Is that what your mother said when-”

“Boys!” says Betty mock sternly, her best teacher voice, and Reggie and Jughead glower but stand down.

They spend the next two hours decorating under Betty’s careful supervision, pasting various Halloween themed cutouts along the walls and hanging streamers, creating decorated pumpkins for each table.

By the end of it, even Jughead admits that the place looks much nicer than the Riverdale Middle School athletics gym warrants, everything dark and shiny. Betty claps her hands as she turns slowly, assessing.

“I think we’re done here,” she says, satisfied, and steps towards her backpack, only to stop suddenly. “Oh- the banner!”

The three boys turn and watch, mystified, as she unearths a giant, hideous banner from the corner. _Riverdale Middle School Halloween Bash!_ it reads in dusty, curlicued letters, and Betty unfurls it across the table, furrowing her brow.

“Do we really need it?” Jughead asks, wrinkling his nose, and Betty clutches it protectively.

“They put it up at every Riverdale Middle School dance! Yes, we need it!”

“Yeah,” says Archie dubiously. “But aren’t we gonna need a… ladder for that, or something?”

“Yes,” Betty says, anguished as she looks down on the frankly hideous banner. “I should have asked Mr. Dillon to leave it out earlier, but I was so distracted with getting the tablecloths I totally forgot! We have to find a way to get it up there.” 

She points to the spot where the banner is supposed to hang, easily twelve feet about the ground.

“That’s easy,” says Reggie confidently. “We just have to move over the table, stack the chair on top of it, and then have somebody stand on it. That’ll definitely be high up enough. Any takers?” he glances over at Jughead, and his smile widens, becomes sharper. “How about you, Suicide Squad?”

“Yeah, the chances of that are going to be zero, but you go ahead,” replies Jughead, and the two of them quickly devolve into an argument, Betty cutting in to interject that maybe if someone held the chair so it was steady?

“Guys,” says Archie, above the fray. “Guys!” They turn to look at him. “Why don’t we try to get the ladder out of the janitor’s closet ourselves?”  
It’s such an obvious solution that the four of them stand in silence for a few beats, considering.

“Good idea, Arch,” Betty says after a minute, and starts walking to the door, the three boys following behind her. “I know where the closet is. This way.”

They walk through the abandoned hallways of school, and it sends a shiver through Jughead, the weird, empty feeling of public schools after dark. Betty guides them, weaving through the Pine-Sol scented hallways as Jughead admires the bounce of her blonde ponytail, shiny under the dulled flourescent light.

She wheels to a stop in a front of a musty, forgettable closet and smiles like she’s found the Ark of the Covenant, such a bright expression that Jughead feels the aftereffects of it rattle through him. Betty’s happiness has always been contagious.

“The ladder is in here,” she says confidently. “I saw Mr. Dillon put it in there after

Archie steps forwards and tries the knob, which is, predictably locked. The four middle schoolers stare at the door.

“I bet I can kick it down,” Reggie says, taking a step back, and this time Jughead doesn’t bother trying to hide his scoff.

“That won’t be necessary,” Betty cuts in smoothly, and pulls a bobbypin out of her hair. She pries the pin open with her teeth easily, like she’s done it a million times before, and jams it into the lock, jiggling it back and forth until the door swings open.

She folds the metal back into shape and slides it back into her hair nonchalantly, while the boys watch, dumbfounded.

“Badass,” says Reggie approvingly, and for once, Jughead is inclined to agree with the sentiment.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Reggie asks as Betty steps inside the dark, dusty closet.

“The Nancy Drew workbook,” she says with a sardonic grin, appearing in the doorway with the ladder, and Archie and Reggie spring forward to help her with the unwieldly thing. Jughead stares at her for a moment, awed and a little amazed.

“You’re a genius, Betts,” he says, and she flushes.

The banner is put up without much more discussion, and Betty sighs in relief as she steps back, assessing.

“The gym looks awesome,” Archie says, clapping her on the back.

“I couldn’t have done it without you guys,” Betty insists, and starts rummaging in her backpack, pulling out three identical paper bags, patterned with tiny skeltons. “And I _did_ promise baked goods. So-”

She dispenses the three bags, and Jughead immediately pulls out a cookie frosted to look like a pumpkin. He takes a bite, and nearly moans, the perfect ratio of cookie to frosting.

“These are amazing, Betty,” he says, finishing one and inhaling another in a matter of seconds.

Reggie hums his agreement. “Almost makes three hours with Riverdale’s very own emo loser tolerable,” he says, and Archie elbows him in the side.

“Right back at you, Merridew” says Jughead dryly, earning a questioning glance from Archie.

“Please, Suicide Squad. It would be the _honor_ of your _life_ to be trapped on an island with me,” Reggie tosses back easily, and Jughead is so shocked he caught the reference that he doesn’t think of a reply.

“Well, my ride is here,” Archie says as he slings his backpack onto his shoulder. “Anyone need a ride home?”

Really, Jughead could use a ride home from Mr. A, seeing as there’s little to no chance of either of his parents getting him and October is finally starting to get cold. But to say he does would be to admit it in front of Reggie, and there’s no chance of him doing that, so instead Jughead just joins in Reggie and Betty’s round of nodding.

They’re at the front of the school now, and Archie dashes off towards the warmth of the car with a hasty “See you guys tomorrow!”

He gets in, and Mr. Andrews starts to drive away, only for the car to stop near the end of the parking lot. The window rolls down, and Archie ducks his head out, the red of his hair exaggerated in the dim light. “And thanks for the cookies!” he calls out, and Betty’s smile is bright enough to light the entire town for a week.

The car peels out of the parking lot, and Reggie jostles Betty in the side, grinning. “You are so whipped,” he tells her, and Betty’s blush becomes even more pronounced.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, resolute and entirely unconvincing. Reggie looks like he’s going to argue with her, but a sleek Maserati speeds into the parking lot, the one Jughead knows belongs to Reggie’s older brother.

“Whatever,” he says with a shrug. “See you losers tomorrow.”

Finally, it’s just Jughead and Betty, standing in the quiet autumn dark together. Jughead breathes in the silence for a few seconds before speaking.

“I really don’t understand why you had to ask Reggie Mantle of all people to help you.”

Betty grins at him, and steals a bite of his fourth cookie for herself. “Reggie isn’t so bad,” she says, like she’s in on a secret that he doesn’t know.

“Easy for you to say,” he replies, but there’s no heat in it. Betty smirks, a crooked expression that tugs at the left side of her mouth.

“Admit it. You like having someone to argue with.”

Jughead concedes the point. As annoying as Reggie Mantle is, he’s annoying in a way that feels benign, that doesn’t signal any real sort of malice.

“I’ll allow that he’s occasionally fun to mock,” Jughead says loftily, and Betty laughs, tipping her head back.

“I’ll take that,” she says, and her exhale turns into smoke in the night air.

“Hey, I’m still holding you to your promise,” Jughead adds in. “I get my choice of music tomorrow night. One song. My pick.

“Of course,” Betty reassures. “I take my bribery very seriously, Mr. Jones.”

“I appreciate you being a woman of your word, Ms. Cooper.”

“Hey, Juggie-” she says, a little nervous, but then a car pulls into the driveway, a pissed off looking Alice Cooper behind the wheel. “Oh! That’s my ride.”  
“See you tomorrow, Betts,” he says, and Betty leans over quickly to peck him on the cheek.

“Thank you, Juggie,” she says, quietly and then darts off towards the car.

He lingers in the parking lot for a few minutes before making the half hour walk back over to the Southside. When he puts his hand up to his cheek, he can still feel the warmth.

* * *

The dance goes off without a hitch, or as close to without a hitch that a middle school social event can get.

Jughead wrestles for awhile whether he even wants to go, but then he remembers the gleam in Betty’s eye, and Archie’s promise of a sleepover after, and digs an old eyepatch out of Jellybean’s bedroom for an _extremely_ unconvincing pirate costume.

The gym is sweaty and too hot, littered with broken or forgotten bits of costumes, and Jughead is content to linger at the back wall, drinking punch and watching his classmates make fools of themselves. Archie dances with six different girls in the course of five different songs, and Reggie attempts to dump a flask into the punch bowl, only to be scolded by a livid Alice Cooper, a _deeply_ entertaining spectacle.

Betty is dressed as a fairy princess, wings droopy at her back and some sort of makeup on her eyes that makes her look glittery and a little bit unreal, like something from a movie. She is, all in all, much too pretty for a school dance.

He’s just about to leave, head back to Archie’s early and maybe have Fred make him a grilled cheese, when the music changes from the Black Eyed Peas hit that’s been topping the charts for the past week to something slower, a little more grown up.

Jughead grins. Betty Cooper is, after all, a woman of her word. She appears in the crowd and shoves her way towards him, head tilted up to better listen to the music.

 _Won’t you let me walk you home from school?_ starts the lead singer, melancholic, and Jughead loves this song in a way he doesn’t quite understand, in a way that makes him feel fragile and giant all at once, like there’s someone out there that understands him all the way to the bone

Betty’s in front of him now, watches the flicker of recognition on his face, and then smiles, sly and nervous and hopeful all at once.

“I promised you a song,” she says, biting her bottom lip hard enough that it wears away the glittery pink gloss. “Do you maybe want to dance with me?”  
“Yeah,” Jughead says, too quickly, and then flushes, from what seems like the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes. “I mean- yeah. That would be nice.”

They shuffle back onto the dancefloor, and Betty takes the two steps necessary to reach him. She laces her arms behind his neck hesitantly, studiously looking down at her pointy toed ballet shoes, and Jughead lets his arms settle at her waist, the material at her dress stiff and crinkly under his fingers.

They start to sway, a little awkward, and Jughead searches for a joke, but nothing comes to mind.

Instead, he listens to the song, the spiderweb delicate tremor of the lead singer’s voice- _Won’t you tell your dad to get off my back? Tell him what we said about “Paint it Black.”_

Betty sighs, something a little wistful in the sound it. “I love this song,” she says, and he nods in agreement.

He wants to tell her that she’s the prettiest girl in the entire school. He wants to tell her that she is smart and funny and strange and kind. He wants to tell her this his mother and father won’t stop fighting and family is feeling more and more like a faraway concept, a story for him to tell Jellybean at night.

“You did a really good job planning the dance, Betts,” he says instead.

Betty does the thing where she ducks her head into her shoulder, that silly sort of joy that wrenches in his chest.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she says, and the awkwardness between them is gone, replaced by Betty leaning forward to press her head against his shoulder, fine blonde strands of hair tickling his shoulder and making him feel like he needs to sneeze.

In thirty seconds the song will fade out, and Betty will step back to go find Archie, and he will walk all the way back home to Sunnyside with the cold shrieking down to his bones, and he will wish that you could relive memories like clothes, over and over again.

But for now, they sway together under the long-ago sound of the music, and it is something.

 

fin.


End file.
